conflicted confessions
I have a confession to make, im less then seconds away
From ending it all and staring death in the face
Been stressed for days, why does life have to be this hard?
Tired of these piled bills and no gas to fill my beater car
Cant you see the scars? I seem to bleed till i cant no more
eyes have dried out like crack whores stuck in a sand storm
I demand a normal life, where are the rewards for all my strife?
According to the scoreboard ive been down this road before in 99'
Im so Tired of living this way and how my body is inhibiting chains
In continuous pain and unable to see significant gains.
Im just waiting for that "something" to help me pick up the pace
Till then im stuck in this rut and believe me its a critical phase
Imagine the physical strain insinuated on a malnourished body;
i Stare in the mirror in awe like the ceiling in a venician lobby
You see writing is more than a hobby, it's a means for survival
I deam it More precious & vital than a babys recital or reading the bible...
Its a release for all these demons im hiding that think they're entitled
To creep up inside me and devour my soul without any reprisal..
I aint ready to die though.
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